


The Law of Nature

by valderys



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: talechallenge16, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the woods on the edge of the Shire, a family waits in dire need...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Law of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marigold's Challenge 16 from the prompt of a starting sentence - mine was: 'The whole world, as far as the eye could see, was blanketed in a layer of pristine white, with shimmers of silver and gold where the sun glinted off some shiny surface.'

The whole world, as far as the eye could see, was blanketed in a layer of pristine white, with shimmers of silver and gold where the sun glinted off some shiny surface. The cold was bitter, and it made Paceslonghours sneeze, a little snuffle that disturbed a few of the ice crystals that clung to his neck, and hung thickly about his muzzle, but not enough to dislodge them, and he had not the energy to do more.

He turned and nuzzled his mate, Eyesthatglintinthemoonlight, who whined very gently and tried to lick him in return, but even that was soon beyond her. She lay quiet then, beneath the shelter of the low-lying holly tree, her chin on her paws. Pace stood and shook himself, before anxiously regarding Glint once more. She tried to thump her tail in reassurance but had to settle for waving it briefly. That settled it, Pace decided. This could not go on.

The winter had been harder than any he had known in his life, but even others of the Pack, whose muzzles were greying, and who remembered the Mighty Rock-fall, did not ever remember a winter being this hard, or this long. Nothing even in the Great Howling, passed on from wolf to wolf throughout the north lands, made any mention of such a thing, a winter so harsh that birds fell frozen from the sky, and trees cracked to their marrow in the cold. Pace licked at his muzzle, and considered.

The Pack had travelled for many miles looking for food, but what poor game they had found had not given more than a bare mouthful each, so little flesh remained on animals long since turned to skin and bone. The Pack had even left their sacred territory, casting out many miles past the marker points, in the hopes of discovering a fresh source of prey, that would allow them to survive this bitter everlasting winter. They had not found one. Pace knew that things were becoming impossible. Glint had barely the strength to stand, never mind enough to keep up with the Pack as they travelled. It was time for him to make a decision, one that as Pack Leader he did not make lightly, but things were getting beyond desperate.

He took a deep breath, the cold cutting down into his chest as he did so, threw back his head, and howled. The reassuring sound echoed off the trees of the forest, bouncing back to him modulated by distance, and by the wind. Others of the Pack began to chime in, until Pace could hear all their voices crying in the wind. It cheered him to know that they had left no-one behind, that no-one had yet succumbed to the killing frost. But if this last venture did not succeed then there would be more than one voice silenced in the snow, and before the moon was next full, unless he missed his guess. It made him more than sad, it made him angry, to know that Glint would probably be one of them.

As the Pack began to drift in, to form into their travelling patterns, Pace nudged Glint, until she wearily got to her feet, and stood swaying. It put fire in his heart to see her, it put determination, and the will to succeed. This must work, there were no other options. The speed Pace set was slow, to allow for Glint's weakness, and to make sure that they were all still as strong as they could be, when they finally arrived. Luckily, they did not have far to go.

It had been in Pace's mind now for many days, and he had slowly led the Pack here, always hoping for another option, for just one big kill – a hind downed in the drifts, a wild pony with it's leg broken. But the Pack had not been that lucky. There remained one place where fresh warm meat might be found, where the kill would be easy and the flesh still plump. It would surely be worth the risk.

Pace paused when they came to river, casting around for scent. He could tell that no others of his kind had dared this route so far, but he knew too that he wouldn't be the last this winter. Perhaps, however, he could gain some small advantage of surprise. Instead, there was the sweet and oily smell of sheep's wool and the smoky herbal scent of Them. He rubbed his nose on his paws and cast up and down the river banks. In summer, this was a wide and majestic flow, a significant obstacle, a barrier he and his kind respected. So much water, drowsy in the sunshine, alive with biting insects – no, such a place was not for his kind.

He thought back to his first winter, the last time he had crossed these shores. He had scarcely been more than a cub, but he would never forget it. The River Folk were hardly bigger than he was, he knew that now, but, oh, the noise they made! The stink of them, all butter fat and greasy, drowned in that horrible smoke of theirs, it made him wrinkle his nose at the very thought. And their animals, all pampered and preening, scarce able to even give him a decent run for the pleasure of taking their lives!

It had been rich pickings though. He remembered that. He and his mother had hunted and fed well that winter. But he also remembered the smell of fire, and burning pine resin tickling in his nose as They had hunted them both with torches, and with dogs, and with sharp cruel metal. Pace had made it back across the river, with his paws in bloody rags, and the scent of smoke clinging to his fur, but his mother had not. It was a lesson he'd never forgotten.

It was in his mind now as he carefully put out one paw and tested the river. It was ice, solid ice, the Pack could cross it easily, and yet still he found he hesitated. The taste of mutton filled his jaws in memory, the blood gushing hot and sweet down his throat, and yet still he hesitated. This was a drastic decision and he knew it. It might mean death for some of his Pack, and yet it would be more than one who died if they did not cross, and slower, more painful deaths, not the sudden bright flash of a blade or axe as it bit through sinew and bone.

Pace whined a little, regretting the necessity that he was forced to, but really, he knew he had no other choice. It was survival. Kill or be killed. The law of nature.

And so it was, that in this Fell Winter of 1311, the white wolves invaded the Shire over the frozen Brandywine.


End file.
